Bittersweet Life
by Deranged Goddess of Insanity
Summary: Chase had made his bed and now he would lay in it. But it was harder than he thought it would be. Mostly flashbackish. Written for the Houserareathon on LJ. Prompt 84. HouseChase other info in the header


**Title**: Bittersweet Life

**Author**: monroenell

**Rating**: Maybe R?

**Prompt**: 84. As children do when they've drunk down

The bittersweet infusion that might make them well.

Here's how you reward yourself.

Rainer Maria Rilke

**Disclaimer**: Owning House? Well, you see, I was in Atlantic City at the one casino that doesn't check ID's all that well, since I am only 18 and all. And there were these strange people that I ended up playing Texas Hold 'em with. And then the rights to House was in the Pot. But I ended up with only two pair while the man who looked suspicioulsy like Robert Sean Leonard ended up with a Royal Flush in spades.

**Summary**: Chase had made his bed and now he would lay in it. But it was harder than he thought it would be. Mostly flashback-ish.

The warm glow of the amber liquid beckoned him, but he could not have any. He knew that once he started to drink it, he would not be able to stop. He would drink it all until he could not remember, and he had too many sins to repent to obliterate them from memory.

He had betrayed his mother by not being strong enough to force her to get help with her addiction. He had betrayed his father by refusing to talk to him since he was fifteen, and now his father was dead - supposedly four months earlier than predicted. But worst of all, he had betrayed his boss to keep his job. All he could do was to perform penance for his sins; it was not that difficult, even if it was something he would not normally do.

Chase sighed, and carefully rolled over, desperate to not have to look at the alcohol anymore, but not so anxious that he would disturb his, was lover the right term? It was too late at night, or too early in the morning, depending on your perspective, for him to decide on the correct word usage. But, he was careful to not disturb Doctor House anyway. House did not get enough sleep, as tormented as he was by pain to be healthy, and he was not going to wake House up. Besides, House was definitely not a morning person.

Chase tensed slightly as House's arm curled over his hip. He forced himself to relax as House's hand rubbed gentle circles on his stomach. He had made his bed, and he would lie in it - quite literally.

Chase closed his eyes and started to count the sheep jumping over the fence. House would ask too many questions if he saw bags underneath his eyes again. How could he tell House that he just was not comfortable sleeping next to him? If he told House that, then he would have to tell House the rest of it. He was uncomfortable doing anything with House. But that would hurt House too much, and he had already hurt House too much.

Yet - he always felt dirty after he spent the night with House, and it was worse when House came over to his apartment. If he had gone to House's apartment, he could just leave after cuddling with House for an hour or so, claiming he needed to get clothes for work the next day.

Then, when he got to his own apartment, he would always take a nearly scalding hot shower and scrub his skin until it was bright pink. He felt used after his encounters with House, and he didn't understand why.

He had entered in this relationship with House on his own free will. He had been the one to take the initiative and kiss House. This whole relationship was his fault, but it was breaking him. But not initiating it would have killed him faster.

Foreman and Cameron didn't understand that even though his father had forced him to med school, he still could have deliberately failed at it. All he would have had to do would have been to skip class, finals, tests and lab work and he would have been failed. But he had always wanted to be a doctor, he just didn't want to wrap his identity up into being a doctor that he was only a doctor and not a person and not a man.

He loved being a doctor; he loved working for Doctor House. When Voglar had first approached him, he had just been reprimanded by House over the woman's PET scan. He had felt as if he had to take Voglar's offer so he wouldn't lose his job. That had been one of the worse mistakes he had ever made; but, he had overheard House and Wilson talking, and he had heard Wilson tell House to fire him. He knew House actually did generally listen to Wilson. Look at all the cases Wilson had managed to get House to take.

He had known it had been a mistake as soon as he had made the choice to run tattling to Voglar - but he had made the choice and he would stick it through. Once you started something, you had to follow it through to completion no matter how much you hated it. Following through to completion is why he had taken care of his mother; it was why he had managed to make it through school without quitting once he had been old enough to drop out. It was why he had become an intensivist when he had watched five patients die whilst underneath his care when he had first started. Two teenagers who had in a car accident caused by a drunk driver, a young woman who had twenty-one shots on her twenty first birthday when she had weighed all of 45 and a half kilograms soaking wet. The other two - one was a cop with a living will who had been shot in the line of duty and the other was someone whose family had decided to remove life support. Yet, even though he had felt helpless, that there was nothing he could do to help when he was supposed to save someone - he had still managed to finish out the residency and specialization.

He had known after he made the choice that not much would be able to save his job since House would win. House always won, it was a fact of life - just like House was always correct. He had started to scramble for ways to save his job, but he had started to feel as if it was hopeless.

Then, Voglar was gone and he had nothing saving his job. But, he knew House would not fire him. It would be a point of pride for House to not fire him. Instead, House would just make his life miserable until he quit his job, and that was exactly what House had done during the meningitis outbreak.

Chase knew what House was doing, but he couldn't give up. He would not quit his job - but every day it became harder and harder to come into work. When he did finally break, he still had not quit. Instead, he had gone into House's office and begged House for a chance to mend the fences while House just sat in his chair playing with the yo-yo. When House had seemed indifferent to his plea, he had done the only thing he could think of.

He had leaned down and kissed House - trying to get some response from House and then he had left the office, at a much faster pace then normal. He refused to admit that he was running.

He had nearly called out sick from work the next day, but when he woke up there was message from House on his answering machine: _Are you going to hide at home like a wombat or come into work today? And since you used up your sick days for the year, you can only use a sick day with my permission. And a doctor's note. If you don't come in, I'll send Foreman to your apartment. I might do it regardless though._

He had gone into work, but tried to spend the time in the clinic. That had only worked for about two hours before he had been paged to the Office with the emergency code.

House had been sitting in the chair again, playing the Game Boy Advance this time. House continued to play the GBA as Chase wringed his hands and bite his lip. He had no idea what was going to happen, and he had not expected what had happened.

House had told him to dress in a solid colored shirt and black pants, and then specified nice clothes. Chase frowned. It seemed as if House was taking him on a date. But... House hated him right now. Had he been right about House being queer? He had thought Wilson and House had a thing going on, but while Wilson would sleep with anything that breathed House was into sleeping with one person at a time. Possibly two since House didn't count a hooker as a person whilst in the mist of copulation.

He had had a surprising amount of fun at House's apartment, if he ignored the creepy-crawly feeling he got whenever House touched him for longer then ten seconds - and House was always touching him. He seemed to have a fascination with his hair.

It seemed as if he slept with House, if he played the part of a boyfriend, then House would treat him better. All he had to do was sleep with House and things would go back to how they used to be. At that point, the sheer build-up of fear over his job and depression caused by doing all the menial tasks and never interacting with patients and working longer than normal hours had made him eager to do anything to have it be fixed. But he didn't want it to go this far.

House said something in his usual sarcastic manner, and instead of ignoring it like he usually did, Chase had slipped to his feet and then knelt by the edge of House's couch. He reached for House's belt with trembling hands and shakily pulled House's penis out of the slacks.

He tentatively licked it, and scrunched his nose up as he gamely continued. It tasted kind of bitter and kind of salty, and he wasn't sure if he could get used to the taste.

When he finished, House petted his hair and told him he hadn't had to swallow. Chase frowned and put that aside for future reference.

He shook his head no when House asked if he wanted to stay the night, and he shook his head no when House asked if he wanted him to reciprocate. That was the first time he had taken a shower and nearly scrubbed his skin off. When the water turned ice cold, he vomited into the toilet until there was only acid in his stomach. It was not the last time.

House invited himself over to Chase's apartment, and he invited Chase to his apartment. He told Chase to call him Greg, and he returned to treating Chase as he normally did at work. Every time their relationship progressed to a new level, Chase reacted by taking more showers and to vomiting more often. It was as if he had developed bulimia, yet he only vomited after a night with House.

He lost weight he could ill-afford and House actually made him meals at his apartment to "make you look non-anorexic."

Everything was how Chase wanted it to be, what he had dreamt it to be; but it was like hell. If he had just managed to bear with the treatment for a little longer, he would not be doing something that he hated.

Sometimes, once you get what you want - you realize it was not at all what you had dreamt it was.

Chase smiled thinly before trying to sleep once more. Why is it that in the dark of the night the thoughts you bury during the day flourish? It was like one of those gremlin things from that one movie House had him watch last week. Something about not feeding them or putting them in sunlight or getting them wet. His thoughts were like that, but in reverse of the sunlight thing. Sunlight was the only thing that seemed to keep his thoughts at bay.

He closed his eyes again, and this time just counted breaths. He continued over and over again.

He woke up to the alarm clock blaring and House looking at him curiously.

"You still seem a bit out of it, Robert. Don't come into work today before 12. I'll tell the other ducklings you had to wait for a hooker at your apartment." House said, as he reached for his Vicodin.

Chase blearily stared at House before rolling over and going back to sleep. He didn't feel House rub his back gently, and he didn't fell House leave the bed.

House softly closed the bedroom door, sighed in frustration, and went to work.


End file.
